


In His Shoes

by hutchynstarsk



Category: Starsky and Hutch - Fandom
Genre: Character Study, Crack, Gen, Racism, body switching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-16
Updated: 2012-03-16
Packaged: 2017-11-02 00:46:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/363160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hutchynstarsk/pseuds/hutchynstarsk





	In His Shoes

In His Shoes

**In His Shoes**

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Hutch sat glumly at his desk. He’d been staring at the same paper for the last five minutes, not seeing a word. He sighed, and tried to gear his head on correctly, and get to work.   
  
“Hutch. Hey, Hutch. Yoo-hoo.” Starsky waved a hand in front of his face. “Dobey’s gonna have a cow if we don’t finish up our reports.” He brought first one sneakered foot to rest on the desk, then the other, and crossed his hands behind his head. “How come you don’t care, huh?”  
  
“Rat race,” mumbled Hutch, flinging down his pen. “First we’re busting our tails, chasing down perps and keeping the streets safe, and now we have to write reports about it, when we’re more than halfway beat, and come in early no doubt, to do it all again tomorrow! Whereas Dobey, all he has to do is sit in there and issue orders.” He frowned darkly at Starsky, and scraped a hand back through his disheveled hair.   
  
Starsky stared at him. “What brought this on, Hutch? You envy Dobey now?”  
  
“Kind of. Come on, Starsk. Yeah, the man has hard work—but all I’m saying is, it might be nice to sit behind a desk once in awhile, and not risk life and limb every day.”  
  
Starsky regarded him somberly. “You want to work towards a promotion, Hutch?” He kept his face carefully neutral.  
  
Hutch backpedaled. “Well, I’m not saying…” He spread his arms. “All I’m doing is… Starsky! Can’t I even think about it?!”  
  
“Never said you couldn’t. I’m getting coffee. Want some?” Starsky scraped back his chair and stood, still wearing that trying-to-be-blank expression.   
  
Hutch frowned at him in exasperation. “I’m not leaving you, bozo. Would you quit with that look? Honestly, as clingy as a—”  
  
“Look! I’m— Hutch! You’re being a jerk. Get your own coffee.” He pivoted and left the room with a tough, angry stride, head down.  
  
Hutch glared after him, but didn’t have time to decide what to do, because at that moment, Dobey’s voice boomed. “Hutchinson! Get in here! And bring your report.”  
  
“Sitting around all day, issuing orders,” muttered Hutch, still glowering as he grabbed his half-finished report and headed for the office. “Must be nice!”  
  
#  
  
Dobey regarded the scowling, irritable blond. He was young, tall, fit and healthy—what did he have to feel grumpy about?   
  
“This the best you could do with your report?” Dobey closed it and flopped the half finish job on his desk, giving Hutch a stern frown. You had to keep these guys in line. Sure, he rode Starsky and Hutch hard—but sometimes maybe not hard enough. They still acted like they owned the joint, breezing in and out, playing practical jokes…  
  
Hutch spread his arms in a sarcastic manner. “We’ve only be out on the streets, working all day.”  
  
“Hutchinson! I’ll have you know in my day, my partner and I pulled double and sometimes triple shifts and still turned in better reports than you and your partner do.” He tapped the desk for emphasis.  
  
“Guess that’s why you’re captain,” said Hutch.   
  
What was that supposed to mean? “Are you getting insubordinate, Hutchinson?”  
  
Hutch shrugged, and turned away.   
  
“Don’t you turn your back on me, Hutchinson!”   
  
What did Hutchinson know, anyway? What fun, with the lives of so many people riding on Dobey’s shoulders every day. Sometimes he envied those two, so young and strong and carefree. They took it for granted, their freedom as plain-clothed detectives. Coming and going as they pleased, forgetting to fill out proper reports, expecting Dobey to cover for them when they went too far…and of course, always having each other to confide in.  
  
“You don’t know how lucky you are,” growled Dobey.  
  
“What was that, Captain?” Hutch turned back to him, wearing a politely replaced mask, looking innocent. Dobey’s eyes narrowed further. He knew Hutch’s fake ‘I’m-being-good’ look as well as he knew Starsky’s. Try to pull one over on him, would he?  
  
“Hutchinson, I’ll have you know you’re lucky to have the job you have, and work with the partner you work with. Sometimes I’d give anything to be back at the job you’re doing. You and Starsky don’t know how lucky you are. Promoted quickly—perhaps too quickly for your own good. It would just teach you a lesson if you did get promoted further, and then you’d see how much fun it is.”  
  
He hadn’t meant to complain—it was none of Hutch’s business, surely—but all the same, at least it had knocked the fake polite look off his face; he was scowling again.  
  
“Yeah?” Hutch said. “I wish you could be me for a day and see what it’s like!”  
  
Dobey opened his mouth, and shut it. The very words had been on the tip of his tongue. Shaken, he turned back to the half finished report. “Do this properly.” He flung it back at Hutch’s hands.  
  
…and felt the weird, world-shaking, ripple-shift.  
  
And the papers, he was flinging them, they were being flung to him—they were flung from his large black hand, and now he was taking them with his long white hand and accepting them and saying, “I’ll get right on…” The words were coming from his mouth—his mouth that felt different, inside—and his voice was different, softer and silkier. “What the hell, Hutchinson?” He was standing in front of the desk, but…but…he still sat there, a large, frowning black man who used to be young once, too.  
  
Desk-Dobey raised his hands and looked at them, and said something unrepeatable, in Harold’s voice.  
  
“Hutchinson!” barked Dobey, in Hutch’s voice, and glowered down at him with his fiercest glare. It felt so strange to be in the body of this man—this young, tall, healthy and thin white man. Hutchinson. One of his best detectives. But…oh, if he felt as energetic as this all the time—even when he was tired—no wonder they chafed at the bit, these boys.  
  
He flexed his—Hutch’s—arms. This was more like it.  
  
Meanwhile, desk-Dobey—old, black Hutch—was wearing the expression Dobey recognized as his own when he was severely frightened. “I take it back. I take it back. Undo the wish. Undo. Captain,” he said, in a smaller-sounding voice than Dobey would’ve thought his mouth could make. Scared eyes looked at Dobey from his own face. It was disconcertingly like looking into the mirror in the morning, only to find it talked back.  
  
But he immediately released his regrets, and came and sat on the desk, closer to his own body. “Okay, Hutchinson. We’ll take it back.” He laid a hand on ‘Dobey’s’ shoulder. It was trembling a little. “Take my hand. We’ll undo the wish.” He spoke gently, since Hutchinson was obviously terrified, and Dobey was, after all, the mature party here. And he had to look after his men, no matter what stupid stunts they sometimes pulled.  
  
Hutch clasped his hand gratefully.  
  
…And they tried a half dozen different ways, unsaying the wish at the same time, wishing to be back in their own, normal bodies, the works—but it didn’t happen. Not the slightest glimmer of change.  
  
Dobey sat back on the desk and ran a hand—he was still getting used to his new hands—back through his suddenly silky, long, straight hair. It was so odd, this body. And yet it reminded him of what it was like to be young, and he felt giddy as a teenager in it.  
  
“Well, son, you wished for one day,” he said. “So we’ll give it one day.” He laid a hand on Hutch’s shoulder again, and told him, “Calm down. I’ll tell you what to say to Edith. Tell her you’re pulling an all-nighter, can’t come home tonight. Then you can rent a hotel—or just go to your apartment—and get some sleep.” He knew from how he’d been feeling (before becoming Hutch), that he needed rest badly. “I’ll clean up things here. Oh, and take your report with you. Finish it when you can. As for everything else—we’ll worry about it tomorrow.”  
  
“Starsky,” said Hutch quietly, and put his head in his hands. “Oh, man, I snapped at Starsky, and now I can’t apologize. Unless we tell him?” He looked up quickly, a questioning look in his eye.  
  
Dobey hesitated. “One day? What’s the point? He’ll think you’re playing another practical joke on him, Hutchinson—and that I’m helping. Sure, if you insist he needs to know, we can go through the drama—but why bother? Go home. Get some rest. This will sort itself out, ten to one, by this time tomorrow.”  
  
Hutch, in Dobey’s face, looked uncertain. At last, he nodded. “You’re right. This would only worry him.” He scraped back his chair, and stood.  
  
Did Dobey really look that old and pained when he first got out of his chair, when his back was starting to hurt him? Instinctively, he reached out to take Hutch’s arm, and help him up.   
  
Hutch looked up at him with scared eyes, all snootiness gone, and only a scared, almost juvenile look in his eyes. “Thanks, Captain.”  
  
#  
  
He got Hutch out, reassured, and sent home for the night to get some rest. He was heading out himself, carrying the work he’d need to finish when he got the time, and was almost to the door when—  
  
“Hutch.” Starsky strutted up to him, eyes blazing, face indignant and offended or wounded, or something. Dobey felt momentarily nonplussed to see that look aimed at him. He’d never had Starsky look at him like that, as if he owned something of Dobey’s soul and Dobey had no business doing whatever he’d just done. He stopped—without meaning to, his feet just stopped.  
  
“What is it, Starsky?” he asked, rather gruffly. It still surprised him to hear Hutch’s voice, instead of his own.  
  
Starsky poked him in the chest. “You wanna buck for a promotion, you go right ahead. But don’t you act all high and mighty like you’re too good to do reports now. I ain’t doing yours, and I don’t want you treatin’ me like dirt for daring to ask what’s wrong.” His glower intensified, and he crossed his arms and frowned. “I know you’re working too hard. I also know this is partly about your breakup with Jennifer.”   
  
Dobey swallowed, and tried to put on a Hutchinson-like apologetic demeanor. He spread his arms. “I’m sorry, Starsk. I suppose I got carried away.”  
  
Starsky looked mollified. “That’s better.” He gave ‘Hutch’ a pat on the arm. “You ready for me to drive you home?”  
  
“Um…” said Dobey, thinking of Hutch. He’d taken a cab to his place, and the key from what was now Dobey’s pocket. “I don’t think that will be necessary. I thought I’d…do some things tonight.”  
  
“Alone things, or company things?” Starsky watched him carefully.  
  
“Alone things.”  
  
Starsky’s eyes were narrowing, his long face looking entirely too suspicious. “Okay, Hutch. What’s up? You know you can never lie to me. With that face of yours, it just doesn’t work. Now what?”  
  
Dobey found himself getting irritated. Here for one day, he had the opportunity to be young again, and this kid was standing in his way, interrogating him. “Nothing, Starsky. I’m going to do some things. Excuse me.”  
  
He brushed past the brunet, leaving Starsky staring after him. He felt the eyes trained on his back. They made him feel obscurely guilty, but he brushed it away.  
  
#  
  
Hutch took a cab to his place. He found he was breathing hard and feeling winded just from climbing the stairs to his place. Dobey’s body was exhausted! On top of that, there was a crick in his neck, and a persistent pain in his back.   
  
He couldn’t wait to get out of this uncomfortable suit and into something…oh wait. He wouldn’t be able to fit his regular clothes. He stopped, key in hand, feeling terribly close to bursting out crying. Not that he’d do it, certainly not in Dobey’s body.   
  
Worst of all, he didn’t even have Starsky’s help with this. Starsky could’ve run out and got him something else to wear, no problem. But he felt so exhausted; was it really worth another trip, just to buy other pants and a shirt? He gnawed on his lip, and then headed inside.   
  
Maybe Dobey’s body would feel better after he ate something. He got into the fridge, and started pulling out salad fixings. He almost smiled, the twitching widening of his mouth feeling unused, rusty. Hey, he always wanted to put Dobey on a healthier diet. Now was finally his chance!  
  
After a quick meal, he climbed wearily back down the steps.  
  
He was just getting into his car when a police cruiser pulled up. The cops got out and slammed the door. “Captain? What are you doing here? Are you checking up on disturbances personally now?”  
  
“Disturbances?”  
  
“Yes sir. We received a report that a suspicious prowler had entered Hutchinson’s apartment. Dispatch sent us to check it out.”  
  
“Suspicious…?” Hutch stared at them.  
  
“Yes sir, a black man in his fifties…” The patrolman suddenly went red. “Uh, I…I see it was a mistaken case. You were probably just visiting Hutch.”  
  
‘Dobey’ cleared his throat. “That’s right, young man. But good job on following it up. Go on back to work, men.”  
  
The patrolman looked ridiculously pleased with the small compliment his captain had just paid him. He saluted, and grinned. “Yes sir!” He and his silent partner headed back to the car, walking tall.  
  
Hutch snorted. He didn’t know whether to be glad his neighbors cared enough to call the cops, or offended they’d thought he was a prowler, because he was black now. Maybe a little of both. But Dobey never came to his place, and so his neighbors of course hadn’t recognized him. (They did know Starsky; he and Hutch let themselves into each other’s apartments all the time. That had caused some comment at first—not that Hutch cared.)  
  
He headed out to his favorite clothing store, and began to search the racks. Unsure what size Dobey wore, he began at the larger end of the sizes, and held pants up, trying to gauge what his waist would be. He’d taken off his tie and suit jacket at home, and loosened his shirt; it was really uncomfortable, this suit. He didn’t know how Dobey could put up with dressing so formally.  
  
“Excuse me, sir. May I help you?” A smarmy voice spoke behind him, and he turned to see a haughty-nosed clerk looking down at him.   
  
Hutch blinked. “Uh—yes. I’d like to see this in the next highest size.” He pushed the pair of jeans into the man’s hands, and moved down the rack, looking away to cover his suddenly nervous sense that the man thought he was pond scum.  
  
What was the problem? He was shopping; he had money; he…was black.   
  
Hutch cringed, inwardly. He’d never have thought twice about going shopping in just a shirt and pants, even after a long day of work. But maybe this was why Dobey wore a suit so often. Maybe he just didn’t get any respect when he wasn’t dressed to the nines.  
  
He finished his shopping, trying on some things until he found a pair of cords that fitted comfortably, and a loose, red cotton shirt, a green turtleneck, and some fresh underwear. The clerk who’d come to ‘help’ him hovered suspiciously nearby the whole time, with his judging face on.   
  
It made Hutch a little sick to see the way he acted, but he needed some clothes and he was too tired to think of tackling yet another store, so he put up with it—making a mental note to reconsider shopping here, when he was himself again. If this was how they treated black people, he didn’t know if he should be giving them his business.  
  
He paid, and left the store, feeling like he could breathe again, now that he was alone. It was dark, and he headed across the parking lot. He saw a white lady quicken her steps past him, clutching her purse closer.  
  
Come on, lady. I’m not gonna rob you!  
  
A sour taste was in Hutch’s mouth. Was this why Dobey always seemed mad about something? People really went around treating him like this? He was a respected police chief, for pity’s sake! A good man, a family man, a pillar of the community. And people treated him like crap because of his skin color?  
  
Hutch just wanted to get away from everyone and everything, take a hot bath, and go to bed.  
  
#  
  
Harold Dobey ranged the streets, feeling young and free.   
  
When he’d been this age before, there had been places he couldn’t go, things he couldn’t do—all that old shit of segregation.   
  
He could go anywhere he wanted now as a black man…although come to think of it, he was white for a day. Handsome, white, and a cop. The world, as they said, was his oyster.  
  
He walked the streets for a long while, just enjoying the feeling of being young and energetic, and his back not hurting. He walked past some disco joints, noticing how crowded they were with young folks.  
  
He and Edith used to go dancing, but they rarely had the energy or the time lately, and their favorite places always seemed to be closing in favor of disco joints. It seemed easier to stay home, or just go out for a nice meal together.  
  
Speaking of which…he went to his favorite lunch spot and ordered a big meal of his favorite soul foods. And pie. Lots of pie.  
  
He was almost the only white face in the place, and the waitress grinned at him, and asked him if soul food was the only part of black culture he liked. Dobey stopped chewing, his mouth full. He stared at her, blinked. She gave him a slow wink and walked away, her hips sashaying, a thing of beauty.  
  
Had that young waitress just come onto him? It had been so long, Dobey didn’t know how to react anymore. Women hadn’t flirted with him since…well, it had been awhile. Of course, Edith and he had a good relationship—but he hadn’t had a young woman put the moves on him like that… in years.  
  
He finished up, left a good tip (hey, it wasn’t every day a man got such a compliment, even if he’d never take her up on it), and then he went back to the nearest disco joint. He’d decided to give this disco a try. He was young enough, now…  
  
The music was strange, and far too loud, but he found himself getting into it. When a pretty white girl asked him to dance, he went along with her. “I’m not very good at dancing,” he said, having to almost shout over the music.  
  
“Then I’ll show you the moves.” She gave him a giant wink.  
  
As he danced, Dobey felt young again. He didn’t know these moves, but his—Hutch’s—body did. He must dance a lot. How could he not, when he was so young and energetic, and all the ladies paid attention to him?  
  
He felt his head swimming, with this young woman dancing opposite him. He found himself wondering…would it be so wrong, really?  
  
He discarded the thought. Of course it would. He was a married man. Just because he was young for a day didn’t give him license to cheat on Edith. Never mind what Hutch would do if he were here; you didn’t use another man’s body to cheat on your wife. It might not be anything they’d ever preach against in church, but he knew it was wrong, anyway.  
  
He got himself extricated after two dances, and after that was careful to dance with no girl more than a few minutes. He still felt tempted, though, and realized he was going to have to get out of here before he did something he’d regret, and tried to hook up with one of these randy young things. He was pretty randy and young himself.  
  
He made it out—still not completely exhausted, even after a long time dancing. It was amazing how young he felt, and alive. He walked the streets, stopped and had a drink at his favorite bar, and finally took a cab back to Hutch’s place.  
  
He sat in the back seat drowsily, watching the night lights of the city pass him by as the cab took him away.  
  
Would it be wrong to go home, and tell Edith what happened, and sleep with his wife tonight?   
  
Probably.   
  
Definitely.   
  
It wouldn’t be cheating on his wife, but… It just wasn’t something you could use another person’s body for. Besides which, suppose Edith liked him better this way, and got a taste for the blond cop? And what if some memory of sleeping with Edith retained in Hutch’s body?  
  
He shuddered a little, and felt guilty for even entertaining these thoughts. You were only young once. He shouldn’t be so enamored of this second taste—this freedom.  
  
Freedom.   
  
He rolled down his window, and stuck his head out, and shouted “FREEDOM!” loud to all the city streets, this beautiful city he called home.  
  
The cabbie said, “Hey, pal, I think you’ve had enough.”  
  
#  
  
Hutch woke up in his bed, feeling heavy and old and tired. He got up, and groaned. His back didn’t hurt as much this morning, but it was still sore. He showered (a weird experience; he felt like a stranger and foreigner in this body—and yet it felt good to get clean, and have the warm water pound on his back), and put on his new clothes, and stared at himself in the mirror, frowning. His hair looked messy. He tried combing it, but his comb didn’t work very well. In the end, he fluffed it around with his fingers a bit, trying to make it look the way Dobey’s hair usually looked.  
  
Dobey—in Hutch’s body—sprawled sleeping on the sofa. He hadn’t changed out of Hutch’s clothes. Hutch scowled at him, and bent to shake him awake. “Come on, Captain! We’ve got to get to work!” He got Dobey up, sent him in for a shower, and picked out some clothes for him to wear today. He laid them out, and mixed up an egg white omelet with green pepper, onion, and fresh mushrooms.  
  
When Dobey emerged, looking pink and scrubbed, his hair neatly combed, he stopped, and regarded Hutch dubiously. “You gonna wear that to work, boy?”  
  
Hutch nodded, his mouth full. He swallowed. “Yes sir. I didn’t exactly have anything of yours to pick from. Had to buy these last night.” He debated telling Dobey about the way the clerk had treated him, but decided it was too early to tackle that.  
  
Dobey frowned a little. (Did Hutch really look so disapproving when he frowned, or was this some of Dobey’s personality coming through?) Dobey snorted. “Hmph. Well, I suppose they do look comfortable. Just tell ‘em you’re trying out a new look, if anybody asks.”  
  
“Okay. Captain.” He got up, and handed Dobey a note. “Will you put this on Starsky’s desk? I typed it up last night. He knows my handwriting, so I can’t write it out. It’s…an apology. Try to be nice to him today, okay? I was kind of rude to him yesterday.”  
  
Dobey nodded, looking a little guilty. “I’ll do that, Hutchinson. Now, for today, I want you to put off any big decisions. You can use your judgment on small things, but if there’s anything big going down, I want you to stall and contact me as soon as possible. I’ll go on patrol with Starsky, but you can reach us any time through the radio, and we’ll come back.”  
  
Hutch raised an eyebrow. “Without arousing suspicion? How are you going to come in here and make the decisions as me?”  
  
Dobey scowled at him. “Hutchinson, we’ll deal with that when the need arises—if it does. For now, just try to look competent.”  
  
Hutch nodded glumly. He was feeling less and less competent the longer this lasted.  
  
“Hm.” Dobey took a bite of the omelet. “This isn’t bad.”  
  
Hutch felt a smile growing on his face. “I’ll teach you how to make it, Captain.”

  


#

  


Dobey sat in the red car next to Starsky, thinking about what else he could do tonight. He’d knock off work a few hours early, so he could have some more time in this body before he had to change back.  
  
He could go swimming. It had been ages. He always felt odd, going to the Y in his swim trunks. People stared at him because he was heavy—or perhaps because he was black. He’d never really known which. In any case, neither objection mattered now. He was skinny and white and young, would look good in swim trunks.  
  
He was enjoying his taste of youth. The young guy didn’t look very happy to be in Dobey’s shoes, though. As well he might not. But they’d been having a fairly calm time at the precinct lately, and maybe Hutch wouldn’t get overburdened trying to do Dobey’s job. After all, it was only for a few more hours.   
  
A few more hours…  
  
He wouldn’t have thought the idea of going back to himself would seem so undesirable.  
  
Something touched his leg, and he moved away from it. Looked over and saw Starsky withdrawing his hand, looking long-faced and mournful. “Got your note, Hutch. Said you weren’t mad, but…what’s wrong? Why are you so distracted? Why aren’t you talking to me?”  
  
Partly because he had no idea what to say to the younger man—what did these two boys talk about, anyway?—and partly because he’d been too distracted thinking about what he’d do later.   
  
“Starsky, I’m just thinking about some things, that’s all. I’m not angry with you.” Did that sound like something Hutch would say?  
  
“Tell me,” said Starsky instantly. “I’ll be your sounding board.” He looked at Hutch expectantly.  
  
“Would you let it go, Dave?” he said, letting his irritation take over. “I don’t have to tell you everything.”  
  
Starsky drew back. “Dave? You never call me Dave. What’s going on, Hutch? You’re not acting like yourself at all.” Starsky eyed him, suspicious and worried.  
  
Dobey rubbed the bridge of his nose and sighed. Just a few more hours, and then he wouldn’t have to try to explain to Starsky. It was annoying, having the boy act so possessive, when in reality, Dobey felt like he barely knew him outside of work.  
  
“Hutch?” Starsky’s hand moved to Dobey’s knee, gripping it. “I’m gettin’ worried about you.”  
  
Dobey swatted the hand away. Far too personal a touch from his most boisterous, curly-headed detective. “Would you knock it off?” he growled in Hutch’s voice.  
  
Starsky stared at him a moment, his face going completely blank. “Yeah. Sure, Hutch,” he said in a croak, and turned away. He stared out the window for a long time, making Dobey feel obscurely guilty.  
  
“I’m just not in the mood to talk right now,” he said, hoping it would be enough, that Starsky wouldn’t need more from him. They couldn’t exactly have a heart to heart talk, with Dobey pretending to be Hutch. It would never work.  
  
“Sure Hutch,” said Starsky in a quiet voice.   
  
They didn’t try to talk anymore.   
  
He got to test out his new body—that is, Hutch’s body—on police work that day. They received a call on the radio about a robbery in progress, and he and Starsky raced to the scene, siren blaring.  
  
He had to hang onto the door to keep from sliding across the seat into Starsky’s lap. Starsky drove like a maniac, wearing an intense look of concentration on his face, his head lowered. It would’ve made Dobey smile, if he hadn’t been working so hard just to keep from losing his seat.  
  
Then the car squealed to a halt, and they flung the doors open and raced down the alley. Dobey stretched his long legs, grinning, feeling so alive, and throwing his head back, feeling the sun on his face. And then he showed his badge and gun and yelled, “Freeze! Police!”  
  
They got the perp cuffed and into the back seat, drove him down to the station, and got him booked. It made Dobey nostalgic for his days on the force working beside his partner, Elmo. He was at least pleased to see that Starsky didn’t try to cut corners with the arrest and booking process, that he took this as seriously as he should.  
  
When they finished, Dobey headed to his office to check on Hutch. Starsky started to follow him.  
  
“Just a minute, Starsky.” He held up a hand to stop the shorter detective. “I have to talk to Dobey alone.”  
  
Starsky stopped and stared after him, his expression startled and bleak.  
  
#  
  
Dobey slipped into the office where Hutch had been steadily going nuts for the past several hours.  
  
“Captain, where have you been?” He rose instantly. He’d been pacing the office for awhile, but finally sat down because he was, once again, tired. “There were two robberies, and a request from the D.A.—” Stumbling a little over his words, he spilled out the rest of the day’s events. “I had to make some decisions, but I don’t know if they were the right ones.”  
  
Dobey snorted, looking unconcerned and breezy in Hutch’s body. You could really get to dislike a guy who looked at you like that, and seemed to always be well groomed.   
  
“That’s nothing, Hutchinson. Give you a good taste of what the job’s like. That’s all easy stuff. If you have anything really hard, then you call me.”  
  
“About that. It’s only a few more hours. You’ll be here then, right?”  
  
Dobey hesitated. “Yeah. Of course I will. I’m knocking off early, though. I had something I wanted to do.”  
  
“Just bring my body back in one piece, okay, Captain?”  
  
Dobey stopped on his way to the door, and turned back to glare at him.   
  
“Hutchinson, I’ll have you know—”  
  
“Yes, Captain?” Hutch blinked at him, rather innocently.  
  
Dobey raised a hand and flapped it at him, disgusted. “Goodbye, Hutchinson!”  
  
Hutch sat down, put his head in his hands, and sighed heavily. It was going to be a long day.  
  
He looked up again momentarily as the door swung open. Starsky was staring at him, a funny look on his face. Then the door slammed shut behind Dobey, and he was gone.  
  
 _Starsky…_  
  
He rubbed his face with his hands, wishing he could talk to Starsky, just a little bit.  
  
#  
  
“Hutch.” Starsky followed Dobey out to ‘his’ ratty old car, looking worried. He caught Dobey’s sleeve—well, Hutch’s sleeve—and gave it a tug. “Hutch!”  
  
Dobey turned an exasperated frown on him. “Starsky, what is it? I have some things—”  
  
“…to do. Yeah, I get it, Hutch.” Starsky’s mouth twisted. “You wanna get away from me. You wanna get a promotion. You got secrets with Dobey now. Well, fine. But do you hafta shut me out? Can’t we still be friends?” he appealed, entreating Dobey with his eyes.  
  
Staring into the blue depths of Starsky’s eyes, Dobey felt an almost physical jolt go through his body. He knew—on some gut level, he finally knew, finally got it—that Starsky was in pain. Dobey was causing him pain.  
  
He swallowed, hard.   
  
He was used to the wisecracking, tough-guy Starsky—not this suddenly uncertain man, who looked near tears.  
  
“Ah…Starsky.” He reached out awkwardly, and put a hand on Starsky’s arm. Starsky stared at him, a desperate, haunted look on his face. He gripped Dobey’s arm in return, holding onto it tightly, and searched Dobey’s face.  
  
Dobey’s mouth had gone dry, and he stared back, a little nervously, seeing Starsky for the first time, all over again. The slick, tough guy act—the incoherence and humor and strut—all of those had somehow made him miss this Starsky, with vulnerable Starsky he somehow could only let show around his partner.  
  
Partner.  
  
Dobey swallowed, and remembered what that had been like. True, he and Elmo had never been this close—not touchy-touchy close. But they’d shared things. And you always knew if something was wrong with your partner—always. Sometimes before he did.  
  
At last, reluctantly, Starsky drew back, releasing Dobey, but still searching his face. His mouth twisted. “It’s no good, is it, Hutch? You’re just not gonna let me in anymore.” He dropped his gaze to the floor.  
  
“Starsky,” said Dobey in a gruff voice, taking him by the arm. “Come with me.”  
  
Starsky came—obedient, even pliant under his hands—and followed him the whole way into Dobey’s office. Dobey slammed the door shut, and turned to scowl at Starsky and Hutch, both in turn. “All right. Let’s tell him, Hutchinson.”  
  
“Hutch?” said Starsky, looking first from Dobey’s face and then to Hutch’s face. He hesitated, when his eyes fell on Dobey’s body, which was rising from the seat behind the desk, a ridiculously pleased look on his face. “Hutch?” he asked again, more uncertainly.  
  
Hutch said, in Dobey’s gruff voice, “Yes, it’s me, Starsk. We weren’t gonna tell you, so you wouldn’t worry.”  
  
“HUTCH!” said Starsky, in a strangled voice, and ran at him, and grabbed him tight in his arms, squeezing. Hutch patted his back, hugged him in return, and smiled sheepishly—and rather tearfully—at Dobey over his shoulder, looking almost apologetic.   
  
“Oh, Hutch, I thought you didn’t like me anymore. Thought you wanted a new partner or something…” Starsky babbled into Hutch’s wide chest.  
  
Hutch brought a hand over his head, and stroked his hair. “Shh. Course I want you. Where am I gonna get another partner as good as you?” He pressed Dobey’s lips to the side of Starsky’s face, kissing him near his hair.   
  
Dobey watched, blinking. He’d known they were close, but… Crying? Hugging? Kissing cheeks? Stroking heads? It made him feel a little weird, watching all this—watching his body hug and caress Starsky, watching Starsky hug him back so firmly.   
  
And then the guilt came: he’d kept these two apart, accidentally messed up what they had, just by encouraging Hutch to keep it a secret. He hadn’t thought it would ruin anything, to keep the secret just for one day…  
  
At last, the two men separated, and Starsky wiped at his eyes and laughed, a sheepish, shaky laugh. “It’s good to see you, Bozo. Even though it looks like you’ve put on some weight.”  
  
“Starsky.” Grim Hutch pointed a trademark Hutchinson finger in Starsky’s face and scowled at him. “Don’t you say another bad thing about Dobey. If you had any idea what kind of stress, what kind of back pain he carries around—or how tired he is all the time…”  
  
Dobey bit his lip to keep from laughing. Was this really how he looked when he was giving the boys a chewing out?  
  
To his credit, Starsky looked chagrinned. “Okay, I won’t captain.” Then both boys burst into laughter, laughter that seemed to verge of tears.  
  
“So tell me what happened,” said Starsky, sitting down on the edge of Dobey’s desk, and keeping one hand gripped on Hutch’s arm, looking down into his face. “I can see you in there, Hutch. It’s so weird. I’m lookin’ at Dobey, but I can see you.”  
  
Dobey left them to it. He had places to go, water to swim in, before going back to the same old grind.  
  
He walked from the room, feeling lighter, somehow, now that Starsky knew. He ranged long and lion-like out to Hutch’s ratty car, started it on the third try, and drove to the Y.  
  
#  
  
When he got back several hours later from a swim, a bite to eat, and another walk, he felt clean and tired—the good kind of tired. The boys were waiting for him in his office, grinning like Cheshire cats.  
  
Hutch sat on his desk, arms crossed, looking at Dobey with a wide grin on his dark face.   
  
Dobey stopped. “Well? What are you boys up to?” he snapped.  
  
Starsky swallowed his smile with difficulty. “Nothing, Captain. Glad you’re back. It’s time?”  
  
Dobey pulled Hutch’s pocket watch out and consulted it. “Looks like it.”  
  
“So just hold hands, and just wish yourselves back?” said Starsky, edging nearer, peering down at the watch.   
  
“Starsky!” said Dobey, turning to glare at him. “Would you knock it off and let us handle it?”  
  
“Okay, okay.” He raised his hands and stepped back. “Man, you’re fierce when you’re Hutch.”   
  
“And what’s that supposed to mean? I’m not fierce normally?”  
  
“No, eh—Captain—you’re fierce. Just…” He scratched his head, trying to get out of this one. “You’re kinda like a big ol’ teddy bear, and Hutch is—well, he carries a huge gun,” he finished, shrugging.  
  
“Hmph. I’ll give you teddy bear. Keep quiet if you don’t have anything useful to say, Starsky.” He turned to Hutch, who was grinning unabashedly, watching the two interact.   
  
What did he have to be so happy about, anyway? Oh yeah, he was getting his body back—his young, strong, healthy body.  
  
Dobey sighed, and stuck his hand out.   
  
“Wait,” said Ken. “First I wished, and then you handed me some papers. Let’s try it that way.” He sat down, and said, “I wish I was back to being myself again.”  
  
Privately, Dobey repeated the wish, trying to force himself to mean it. After all, he couldn’t stay Hutch forever.   
  
He accepted the file Hutch handed him, wondering if this would work at all.  
  
…and felt the weird, shifting forces of the universe align again. The moment of vertigo—such vertigo as he’d never experienced otherwise—  
  
And he sat gasping in his familiar chair, behind the desk, everything the same, his old familiar body, except…except…his backache! It was missing!  
  
He looked at his hands, and blinked up at the boys, and finally stood up. He moved around; his back felt good, almost completely free of pain. What had happened to it?  
  
The two boys stood grinning at him. Starsky moved to stand next to Hutch, and slid an arm around his back, standing close and personal. “We took you to the chiropractor, Captain. Hutch knows a good one—he’s gotta, cuz his back acts up sometimes. He’d have told you about him, but you never said you needed one.” He rubbed a hand gently up and down his partner’s back, as if to demonstrate.  
  
Hutch smiled at Dobey, his blue eyes friendly and warm. “And then we took you to the doctor. I made the appointment yesterday. He’s doing a complete workup—and sending the results to your home, too, so Edith is going to see them. I suspect, from the way you’ve been feeling, that your blood pressure or cholesterol are going to need some work. Incidentally, I want to show you how to make that egg white omelet. Or maybe Edith. She probably does all your cooking, right?”  
  
“Hm-hrmph.” Dobey cleared his throat, feeling embarrassed and strange. “You don’t need to take care of me, Hutchinson.”  
  
“He does, though, Captain.” Starsky looked momentarily very, very serious. “If anything happened to you, well…” He shrugged. “You know he doesn’t talk about it much, but the reason Hutch eats so healthy is—”  
  
“Starsk,” said Hutch.  
  
“Don’t care. I’m gonna tell him.” Starsky didn’t take his eyes off Dobey. “His family has a history of heart disease. He almost lost his dad at a real young age. After that, Mr. Hutchinson had to eat careful so he could live to see Hutch graduate from college. And now Hutch takes care of himself so he can live a good long life.   
  
“I know I tease him about it sometimes, but he does it for all of us—eating his salads, and his pigweed and mussel-toes—or whatever it is he eats—for us. For me. He ain’t gonna die on us. Are you, Hutch?” He turned to smile at his partner, and gave him a little rub on the stomach, then turned back to Dobey. “And you need to take care of yourself too, Captain. For your family. For us. We’re kinda like family too, here at the precinct.” He smiled self-consciously. “Well. That’s all I gotta say.”  
  
“And Captain…” Hutch stepped forward. “This is something I have to say.” He took a deep breath, looking nervous and sad. “You’re the bravest man I’ve ever met. How you deal with the subtle and not so subtle prejudice I’ve encountered just in one day as you— I don’t know how you make it through every day, much less how you turned out to be the man you are. You’re the best, Captain, and I mean that.”  
  
Dobey cleared his throat, feeling dang near tears himself. “Ahem. If that’s all? Starsky? Hutchinson? You can go.” He made a shooing motion.  
  
The boys stood there awkwardly a moment, then ducked their heads, and turned towards the door, close together and in synch.  
  
“Ahem. Thank you,” said Dobey, gruffly.   
  
Hutch turned back, tears shining in his blue, blue eyes. “You’re welcome, Captain. Thank YOU. For being here. For…for everything.” He waved a hand incoherently, and then hurried out.  
  
Dobey stared after them, feeling choked up.   
  
He moved his back a little—it still didn’t hurt.   
  
On his desk, he noticed the business card of a chiropractor. On the white edge, Starsky’s sprawling hand had penned, “Go here, Captain!” Dobey got out his wallet, and stuck the card safely inside.   
  
He rose, wearing his comfortable, new clothes, courtesy of Kenneth Hutchinson, and sighed, deeply.   
  
He realized he couldn’t wait to get home to kiss Edith and hug his kids. Being Hutch had been fun—for a day—but he had his own life, and he’d miss his wife and kids if he had to start all over again, had to really relive his youth.   
  
Youth might be full of possibilities, but now, at his age, he was living out the fulfillment of those possibilities—a good, useful career, a beautiful home, a lovely wife and two wonderful kids. He hoped Hutch had as much to look forward to when he got to Dobey’s age.  
  
And maybe, just maybe, he’d start going to the Y in his own body, too. Swimming was too enjoyable to give up because of people’s stares. After all, as Hutch had said, he’d been dealing with prejudice all his life. He hadn’t let it stop him from becoming a captain in the police force. Why let it stop him from doing anything else?  
  
Maybe he and Edith would start dancing again, too.  
  
  
  
....end In His Shoes....  
  
\---------  
Epilogue:  
\---------  
  
“Huggy…you know this place?” Hutch named his favorite clothes store.   
  
“Yeah, man.” Huggy adjusted his dark sunglasses and peered over the top of them at Hutch, looking cool and street-wise.  
  
“Do they treat you okay, when you go there?”  
  
Huggy made a tsking sound, and snorted. “Go there? Man, if I want to be disrespected, I can get it closer to home. Cheaper, too.”  
  
Hutch frowned, and pursed his lips. He nodded. “Thanks, Huggy. That’s what I thought. I won’t be going there again. And I’ve got a letter to write.”  
  
Maybe he couldn’t tell the whole story in it, but he could tell something. The manager and owners deserved to know why they were losing business—and they were certainly losing his.  
  
#  
  
“Captain!” Dobey looked up from his pile of paperwork—some things never changed—as Hutch barged into his office wearing a king-sized frown.   
  
“Yes?” Dobey cleared his throat. “What is it, Hutchinson?”  
  
“How did I gain a whole two pounds in twenty-four hours?!” He frowned down at his commanding officer, and leaned on his desk.  
  
“Ahem.” Dobey tried not to smile, and found he was failing. “Perhaps I have a card for you, too.” He pulled out a square of paper, with the restaurant’s name scrawled on it. “The food is excellent, and the waitresses are friendly—one in particular.”  
  
Hutch’s eyebrows rose and he blinked rapidly. He accepted the paper, looked at it, and looked back at Dobey. “Eh—ahem. You mean she’s interested in me?”  
  
“All I could do to beat her off,” Dobey assured him.  
  
Hutch adjusted his shirtsleeve, no longer meeting Dobey’s gaze. “Uh…I’ll just go…back to work then, Captain.”   
  
He might’ve barged in like a lion, but he went out like a lamb.  
  
  
\------------------  
...end epilogue...  
\------------------  
  
---


End file.
